


wanna hear one song without thinking of you

by maviswrites



Series: you belong inside my arms [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Daryl Dixon is Bad at Feelings, Depressed Daryl Dixon, Depression, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Episode: s05e08 Coda (Walking Dead), set vaguely in the beginning of their time at Alexandria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maviswrites/pseuds/maviswrites
Summary: Rick doesn’t shrug or pretend that he wasn’t about to say something. That’s one of the things Daryl likes about Rick. No matter what, he’s straight to the point. “You’re weird about music now, you know that?”“M’fine,” he repeats from before.“I know,” Rick says, and there’s truth in his voice. “I know. But you know, uh, Maggie’s the same way.”//Daryl is forced to finally talk about Beth.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Maggie Greene, Daryl Dixon & Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Series: you belong inside my arms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561066
Kudos: 78





	wanna hear one song without thinking of you

**Author's Note:**

> "I never said I'd be all right  
> Just thought I could hold myself together  
> But I couldn't breathe, I went outside  
> Don't know why I thought it'd be any better...  
> I dream about it and I wake up falling..."  
> -Boygenius, "Me & My Dog"
> 
> Title is from the same song as above. I didn't actually mean to write this - I was going to write something sweet and fluffy, and then this came out instead. Don't worry, I'll get to the fluff soon.
> 
> Just a note: This piece looks in pretty closely on Daryl's thoughts. All his negativity, especially concerning his self-worth or others around him, is meant to express what he's feeling, not what I think.

It's already shaping up to be a shitty day when he hears a snatch of Michonne humming something to Judith.

Rick watches his hands tighten around his crossbow. If he had any fingernails left from his chewing, he’d be leaving marks in the wood. “Daryl?” Rick asks. “You okay, man?”

That distracts Michonne, stops her humming.

He loosens his hold until the wood stops creaking. “M’fine.”

“Okay.” Rick eyes him carefully. “If you’re sure. Ready for the run?”

“Sure.”

He and Rick are in the truck, on their way back—found some medical supplies, which is good, but no food or weapons, which isn’t—when Rick clears his throat nonchalantly.

Daryl knows that sound, knows what it means. An uncomfortable conversation is coming his way. “What?”

Rick doesn’t shrug or pretend that he wasn’t about to say something. That’s one of the things Daryl likes about Rick. No matter what, he’s straight to the point. “You’re weird about music now, you know that?”

“M’fine,” he repeats from before.

“I know,” Rick says, and there’s truth in his voice. “I know. But you know, uh, Maggie’s the same way.”

He half-shrugs and turns to face the countryside flying past their window, instead of meeting Rick’s eyes. “She’s been through some stuff.”

Rick taps a finger against the steering wheel and looks thoughtful. Daryl catches the expression on his face out of the corner of his eye and hopes real hard that Rick won’t say what he thinks he’s gonna say.

“She misses Beth, y’know.”

 _Goddamnit._ “What?” Playing dumb. Hoping even harder that Rick will let him.

“I asked her once why she never joined in on any singing and always got real tense about it, and she said it’s ’cause it reminds her of Beth. ’Cause she sang all the time.” Rick holds eye contact, drawing Daryl back in until he’s facing him instead of the window. “You two could talk about it, you know. To each other. Or to me. Or to someone else, I won’t mind.”

“We’ve lost plenty of people,” he mutters, chewing on what’s left of a thumbnail.

Rick gives him a sad little half-smile. “Yeah. But Beth was, uh, was special, wasn’t she?”

“What’re you trying to say?” he growls, hair standing on-end. “We never—I didn’t—”

“Didn’t mean to imply that.” Rick raises one hand off the steering wheel in a reflexive defensive position before relaxing again. “I know you didn’t. But just because… _that_ didn’t happen, don’t mean there weren’t feelings involved.”

He huffs and waits impatiently for the gates of Alexandria to come into view. They don’t come fast enough, and he slumps as they pass by a walker, laying face-down, dragging itself along the road. Its blonde hair is full of mud and blood. He looks away. “Don’t know what you're talking about, man. Cut it out.”

Rick sighs and, if possible, the truck seems to go even slower. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Daryl. But you told me when we ran into each other. You were _with_ her, you said. And… man… come on. Everyone saw you outside the hospital.”

He flinches at the mention of Grady. “Saw me what?”

“Daryl…” Rick coughs uncomfortably. “Never seen you cry like that before, man. Or since.”

He thinks idly about opening the truck door and tumbling out. If he could get away from Rick, he’d able to make it on his own, start fresh. No supplies, nothing but his bow sitting by his feet on the floorboard of the truck, but he’s gotten by with less before. He could make it.

It’d be better than finishing this conversation, anyway.

Rick wouldn’t let him go, though. He’d chase after him. He’s relentless and stubborn like that—Daryl likes that about him, when it’s not directed at him like right now.

"We were close,” he says hoarsely, instead of running.

“I know,” Rick says, gently.

It’s as gentle as one can be these days, when the dead walk upright and there’s no blonde girl with a braid in her hair, singing about how there’s hope in the world and _we can be good_ after all.

He cuffs a hand at his eye, forcing back the dampness that he’s grown intensely familiar with, that he’s grown to hate. “What do you know?”

“Know that cigarette burn wasn’t there before, I know that,” Rick gestures at the scar. “And you’re the only one I know round here who smokes.”

Daryl makes a useless, too-late motion to cover it with one palm. “S’none of your business.”

“You’re my brother, remember?” Rick says lightly.

If he didn’t know better, from Rick’s tone he’d think they weren’t having such an important conversation. “Yeah.”

“Means I care about how you’re doing. And Maggie’s struggling, but… she’ll be okay, y’know? She’s got Glenn to look after her. It’s you I’m worried about.”

(Yeah, ’cause the person who’d looked after him isn’t here anymore. He gets the poorly-hidden subtext. He’s not as dumb as some of the people in Alexandria seem to think.)

_You used to be somebody’s, huh?_

He clenches his hands into tight fists in his lap, to have something to focus on. Pain helps. “Don’t need to worry ’bout me. I won’t do it again. With the cigarette. Just needed to…” he fumbles for the words. “Needed to _feel_ something.”

“I get that,” Rick nods, the look in his eyes showing that he really does. “But if you feel like that again… you can come to me, y’know? I wanna help.”

“Y’help enough,” Daryl mumbles, intensely grateful when Alexandria comes into view. The gates let them in, and Rick drives the truck through.

For a few moments, he thinks that’s the end of it. They’re busy unloading what they’ve found, passing it on to volunteers who’ll put it with the other medical supplies in storage. He and Rick are too focused on making sure everything gets put away right to speak to each other.

But as he’s sneaking away, he hears Rick behind him. “Daryl?”

“Yeah.”

“Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

_Now you’re just yours._

“Yeah.” He strides away, quicker than he normally would.

It’s a few days later that Maggie stops him. He knew she would; Rick’s too well-meaning to keep to himself, and they both care too much.

Caring in this world just ends up hurting you. But for a while… for a while, it’s good. Maybe that makes it worth it.

For that or whatever reason, he lets Maggie grab him by the hand and drag him to the porch of her house. There they sit, with the lemonade he still can’t quite get used to as a luxury. It’s nighttime, and with no more pollution fucking everything up you can almost see all the stars in the sky.

“Rick said you’ve been missing her,” Maggie says plainly, after a moment of silence. Just like Rick, she’s never been one for pleasantries. She’d rather get right down to it. He can appreciate that.

He shrugs, takes a sip of the lemonade, wrinkles his nose. He’s not used to too-sweet things anymore.

He used to be.

“I miss her too,” she says quietly. “I miss how she’d sing for us.”

“There was a—” he clears his throat, just as surprised as her that he’s spoken up. Even more surprised that he wants to continue and actually tell her this. “There was a piano, at the place we hid out at together. She played it, sang a little.”

Maggie lets out a half-hysterical little giggle, covering her eyes. After a second, she recovers, and when she withdraws her eyes are dry but half-mad in the moonlight. “Good. You know, when we got to the prison, I was worried she’d never play a piano again. That’d have been a shame.”

“It made her happy.” He clutches his hand around the glass. It doesn’t feel as good in his grip as a bottle would, which probably means it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a bottle instead. “I was… I tried to make her happy, whenever I could.”

She looks at him steadily in the darkness, which is so shadowy he can only barely tell that she’s looking straight at him. It reminds him of another night spent in the darkness, on a porch with a Greene girl, wishing he were braver.

“Were you in love with my sister, Daryl?”

He knew she’d ask eventually, but his breath still seizes in his throat. It’s like there’s a weight in his chest, burdening his lungs, and he sets the lemonade down before he breaks the glass. “What kinda question is that?”

“You know.” She doesn’t look upset. “I remember how you were, at that hospital.”

_”I remember when that little girl came out of the barn after my mom… you were like me. And now God forbid you ever let anybody get too close.”_

( _Never let anybody get too close_ , he used to try to tell himself.

Yeah, he really fucked that one up, didn’t he.)

He dodges Maggie’s gaze and stares up at the stars. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Guess I was.”

No “guess” about it. But he’s not like Rick or Maggie. He doesn’t get right to the point. He dodges, weaves his way around, never provides easy answers if he can help it. It’s just how he is.

He doesn't know how to respond to questions like that, that try to peer deep into your soul.

_”What changed your mind?”_

Sometimes he hates that about himself.

“Thought so,” Maggie murmurs. “Wish I’d had a chance to ask her how she felt.”

He circles his arm around his knees, tugs them in tight until he’s a little ball. “Dunno. Never asked her.”

“Ya didn’t let me finish.” Her eyes are glinting in the nighttime. Beth’s were blue; hers are green. Beth was short and fair; she’s tall and dark. They still look enough alike that sometimes he’ll think, out of nowhere, he’s gonna cry just from seeing her alive and in front of him when Beth's _not_ anymore. “I didn’t get to ask her. But I knew her, and I know you pretty well, too. She felt the same way, Daryl. I’m sure.”

He shakes his head, if only because accepting that would hurt even worse. “Don’t.”

Maggie inclines her head, understanding. “Okay. You want more lemonade?”

He fingers the cigarette pack in his pocket. It’s near empty. He can feel the itch in his lungs—it’s half-hearted, as most things are to him nowadays. He can put it off for a while longer. “Sure.”

She goes inside and gets him more and he lets her, even though he knows he can’t stand any more of that sugary sour-sweet shit. She’s got the screen door closed, but the windows are open to deal with the summer heat, and he can hear that she’s exchanging whispers with Glenn in the kitchen. Talking about him, probably. How worried they are. About him? Seems like a waste of energy.

When she comes back out, balancing two glasses, she’s humming. Something he doesn’t recognize. Probably a hymn. It’s high, lilting, steady and slow.

“Thought you didn’t like music, anymore,” he takes the glass from her and plays with the lip of it.

“I'm getting better about it. Do you want to?” she responds, and he doesn't know so he shrugs, and that’s all there is to it.

But if he does want to... well.

_"Don't you think that's beautiful?"_

They sit in silence a few moments more, before he gets curious enough to ask, “Did, uh—did she ever sing that?”

Maggie smiles. “Sometimes.”

He feels nervous. There’s that shaking in his hands he’s come to associate with the need for a cigarette, but that’s not it. This is something else. Some kind of first step, maybe. “How’s it go?”

So she teaches him.

The next time they go on a run, he hums a few notes just to have something to do, then immediately stops when Rick notices and proceeds to tease him about it the whole time. It's a lighthearted teasing, not meant to push him, so he lets himself play the tune in his head.

Feels nice, having something connected to her, even if it hurts. It’s a good pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think :)


End file.
